


The End Is Never

by WitchyBee



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Gen, M/M, Spoilers for a few endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyBee/pseuds/WitchyBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Could a man...love a voice?</p><p>I mean...truly, truly, deeply...madly...love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End Is Never

Stanley was alone.

But Stanley was never alone, not completely. There was always the voice. This voice, narrating his every action and thought. Of course, Stanley did not question the presence of a voice in his head, because Stanley did not question anything. That was the problem; he had never questioned his orders before.

So when Stanley found himself alone with the voice and no other instructions to follow, he did whatever the Narrator said. Occasionally there were times when he did not, when he strayed from the written path, but those events were swiftly forgotten. Then there would be another beginning. This story demanded to be told properly.

And through it all...was the voice, that smooth, helpful, witty, sarcastic, beautiful voice. His only friend. Stanley was certain he would not have made it to freedom without the Narrator. He would never have set foot outside his office door, terrified of making choices on his own. But the voice had taken that fear away. 

Could a man...love a voice?

I mean...truly, truly, deeply...madly...love?

The Narrator, of course, would not have a story to tell without Stanley. As much as it bothered him to admit it, he knew deep down that the control didn’t belong to him. In truth, everything depended on Stanley in the end. They were both pawns in something much larger. They needed each other. They relied on each other.

 

(. . .The end is never. . .the end is never. . .the end is. . .)

 

The Narrator had wanted so desperately for Stanley to be content in the room with the pretty lights and soothing music. He believed they could truly find peace here, with no stories to follow, and the entire universe all to themselves. It was just them, alone in this perfect moment that stretched on forever.

But Stanley knew it wasn’t real happiness. It was complacency, a feeling he was very familiar with, as he had felt it everyday of his wasted life. There remained a story untold, a freedom not yet won. a happily ever after. They could not simply abandon their destinies. So he did the only thing he could do.

He made a choice.

Although it pained Stanley to do it, not just because jumping from a ledge repeatedly until one dies is painful, but he also had to ignore the Narrator’s increasingly broken pleas for him to stop. If only he’d followed the story...but Stanley had been so overwhelmed by the realization that he did have choices, so he chose to disobey the Narrator until it was too late. Choices ultimately led to consequences.

And Stanley couldn’t even tell him how sorry he was.

 

(. . .The end is never. . .the end is. . .)

 

Stanley picked up the yellow phone and the ringing stopped. Everything faded to blinding white.

The Narrator tried on countless occasions to make him see the truth of his tragic existence as a willing prisoner. Perhaps it was cruel, letting Stanley believe that he still had a loving wife and home he could return to. But Stanley was determined to ignore the story. A situation like this required some tough love.

Maybe he would finally succeed at opening Stanley’s eyes.

This was Stanley’s world, his fantasy...and he was trapped within it. The Narrator wanted so much to free Stanley once and for all. But that is not the way this story goes.

Stanley pressed a button. He is pressing a button. He will always press a button.

 

(. . .the end is. . .)

 

It was all ruined now, broken, destroyed, the very fabric of this world tearing apart. The entire game was collapsing in on itself because Stanley was not really Stanley at all, but a real person who loitered in broom closets and made meaningful decisions. Even this path was predetermined, yes, another outcome...another ending. The Narrator’s fear, however, was very real and completely genuine.

Stanley was not moving. He would not make a choice. He couldn’t take a single step forward, even as the Narrator pleaded for him to do something, anything at all. Of course, he would wait. There was nothing else he could do but wait for the story to begin once more.

The Narrator was alone.

(. . .the end. . .)


End file.
